


Hidden Changes

by mandysimo13



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Parentlock, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-20 19:49:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10669593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandysimo13/pseuds/mandysimo13
Summary: Tumblr prompt from Johnlockedatbakerst: Headcanon/prompt: Sherlock is mid case at NYS and John has to pick up toddler Rosie. When he brings her in, there’s a few incredulous questions about Sherlock helping raise her from Greg and snide remarks from Donovan. Rosie is a bit tired and fussy. However, as soon as Sherlock walks in, Rosie lights up and reaches for him and he settles her on his hip without blinking and carries on working, while she rests her head under his chin and settles down. The others are surprised, John is not.





	Hidden Changes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LogicalApplication](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LogicalApplication/gifts).



Sherlock was mid rant about footprints in “his” crime scene, mocking Anderson’s ability to handle a scene when an alarm rung out from John’s phone. 

 

“And that’ll be John’s cue to go pick Rosie up from daycare,” Sherlock’s said, punctuating the end of his rant. 

 

“Yeah,” John agreed, switching off the alarm. “Where are we in this? Do you still need me? Should we go home?” John never really wanted to go home while Sherlock was on a case. Being stuck at home going stir crazy when there was adventure going on was never good for his state of mind. But NSY wasn’t exactly the most inviting place for a two year old. With the phones and criminals and the office workers cooing at her, distracted detectives splitting their attention between the baby and the investigation, and Sherlock’s manic energy a trip to the office was a cocktail ensured to create a tantrum. But he always left the option to come back open, just in case. 

 

“I’m not sure yet. I’ll text in twenty. Go get Rosie, I’ll be just fine without you for now.”

 

John nodded. “Right.” 

 

On his way to the lifts, John placed an order for an Uber and it had arrived by the time he exited the lobby of the building. He was walked through the doors of Rosie’s daycare to find the blonde sniffling and rubbing her eyes. Seeing her obvious malcontent, he bent down to scoop her into his arms and comfort her.

 

“Hey there, little bee. What’s the matter, love?”

 

One of her caretakers appeared beside them and said, “someone’s a little crabby today. We had a little trouble napping today.”

 

“That’s not on at all, is it,” John asked Rosie whose only reply was to whine and mash her head into John’s neck.  _ Well, home it is, then, _ John told himself. He didn’t deny the small pang of disappointment but his daughter needed some rest and Sherlock hadn’t texted so it wasn’t likely he was needed. 

 

*ping*

 

John flinched, Sherlock’s text alert summoning part of his attention. One handed, he dug into his pocket to read the incoming text. 

 

_ -There were lacerations found on the victim’s feet. Definitely not self-inflicted. Need your opinion. _

 

John clicked the talk to text feature, a godsend that Sherlock installed to help him with what his partner called “deplorable use of opposable digits”. The microphone icon glowed blue and John talked into the phone, “Rosie is fussy. Send a picture?” He pressed the send button and walked outside, bouncing Rosie on his hip as he went. 

 

The reply was immediate.

 

_ -Bring her. Lestrade won’t let me take the pictures home. Says they’re evidence. _

_ -Terribly inconvenient.  _

_ -Shouldn’t be too long. We can go home once you’ve gotten a good look.  _

_ -You can make the thing with the peas for dinner.  _

 

John replied, “are you sure?”

 

_ -Of course. See you soon.  _

 

John kissed Rosie’s forehead and asked her, “papa needs some help. Want to go see him?” Rosie nodded her head, her curls tickling his skin as she moved. “Well then, let’s get a ride then.”

 

Fifteen minutes later, John and Rosie were walking through the doors of NSY. It had been quite awhile since they had brought Rosie to NSY. Even then, only a handful of times before daycare started. Back then she mostly slept in the carrier or was passed around the office like a bag of chips, watched over by a couple of friendly officers. It hadn’t escaped John’s notice that people had intensely watched Sherlock interacting with Rosie without trying to look like it. They muttered under their breath about Sherlock’s apparent lack of attention and wondered why John was “allowing” Sherlock to dictate where “ _ his”  _ daughter was taken. 

 

John had bit his tongue. Of course he was irritated that, even after all this time and everything Sherlock had done to prove his was human, that he did care, there were still people who saw him as he was before John. Unyielding, cold, distant. That just wasn’t the case anymore. 

 

John had been given the gift of Sherlock’s unflinching devotion and that devotion naturally extended to Rosie. It didn’t take too long after Mary’s death for them to finally pull their heads out of their arses and admit what had been glaringly obvious from the moment they met; they were impossibly in love with each other and always had been. And once that fact was embraced, there was no turning back. They were both in with both feet in both love and work. But that didn’t mean much had changed. 

 

They still shared 221B. The only real difference is that John had folded his clothes in alongside Sherlock’s in their drawers and Rosie had a room to herself. They still fought over silly things like whose turn was it to get the milk; it was perpetually Sherlock’s because John always broke down and bought it because the Great Detective couldn’t be arsed to actually get it. Only now, those fights ended in kissing and maybe a tussle in the sheets. They still worked together, as effective a team as there ever was. Only now they were sure not to take unnecessary risks with their lives to avoid making an orphan of their daughter. Still, they took out life insurance policies and updated their wills to provide a future for Rosie. 

 

From the outside, John did admit, it didn’t look like much had changed in Sherlock. He still snapped at his colleagues, he still called everyone idiots, he still dashed off without much warning, and he still ran intellectual circles around everyone he came in contact with. But if one was inclined to look, they would see that little things had changed.

 

Sherlock never failed to check in on John while he poured over documents. When Rosie was with them, he made sure that someone checked Rosie’s nappies, even if it wasn’t him. He even tried to scarf down a few nibbles of food at John’s insistence when he was feeding Rosie and himself. Granted, he didn’t pick her up or fawn over her while he was working. But he didn’t pay close attention to John or himself when he was working. His partner was more than affectionate enough for the three of them when he wasn’t swimming in a case and John clung to those moments when The Work took precedence. Sherlock’s emotional distance while working was an accepted and predictable pattern, anticipated by all those who knew and worked with him. He had known and prepared for it and it bothered him that no one else could see the softer Sherlock. The one who read bedtime stories in funny voices, loved bathtime because he could play pirates, and learned lullabies on the violin. But that Sherlock wasn’t the one who saved people, so John tried to push his irritation aside. John knew that having a child wouldn’t change much about how Sherlock went about The Work. But John wasn’t about to get into a long drawn conversation to defend Sherlock against people who refused to see him. 

 

There were more important things. 

 

Stepping out of the lift, he was greeted by Lestrade. “Hey there, John. And Miss Rosie, how are you darling?”

 

Rosie turned her head away from him, hiding her face in John’s neck. John smiled at the movement and cupped her head, lightly massaging the back of her head. “We’re a little fussy today.”

 

“Gotcha, no stranger to that,” Lestrade said, giving them a little space. “His Majesty call for you, then?”

 

“Yeah, where is he?”

 

Lestrade gestured to a bank of empty interrogation rooms. “We’ve got him set up in one of the rooms over here. But if Rosie’s needing to go home, I’m sure he’ll be fine without you.”

 

John shook his head. “He said he needed some input on the lacerations you all found. It won’t take long, a half hour won’t make much difference in her mood to be honest. Then I’ll be taking them all home and out of your hair.”

 

“Don’t mention hair, mate,” Lestrade joked deprecatingly, running a hand through his thinning hair.

 

Donovan met them outside the room and said, “are you serious? He’s calling for you when you have her?”

 

John’s brow furrowed. “I always have Rosie. That’s part of the “parent package”, Sally.” 

 

Donovan rolled her eyes. “Anyone can see she’s in no state to be out. Sherlock’s just being selfish, calling for you when you should be at home.”

 

John frowned, knowing that in a way she was right. Rosie did need to go home. But if Sherlock needed him, he wasn’t going to ignore him. That’s not how they worked. Not anymore. 

 

He opened his mouth to speak when Rosie started whining and squirming in his arms, clearly restless and her patience wearing thin. John struggled to hold her and Donovan said, “see? Just take her home. Even Sherlock has to see that she shouldn’t be here.”

 

As if on cue, Sherlock poked his head out of the door, requesting post-its. “Oh, John! Wonderful, come here, I think I found something.” 

 

At Sherlock’s voice, Rosie went still and whipped her head around to see Sherlock. Her eyes, watering and nearing Impending Tantrum territory, she shoved her little arms out to him and called out, “papa! Want you!”

 

Sherlock, without pausing, said, “of course. You can help your daddy and I figure out this little puzzle, come here.” He took her from John’s arms and settled her on his hip and in three seconds flat, she was quiet and still. 

 

Lestrade and Donovan’s jaws hit the floor. 

 

Without giving his colleagues the time of day, he refocused his attention on John. “Now that that’s settled, come, I have pictures to show you. Molly won’t let me see the body until tomorrow, most inconvenient.” He swanned into his temporary office, gesturing wildly with his one free hand as he went. “Now, this is going to sound highly improbably, but just hear me out.”

 

John grinned, tucking away his beam of pride deep in his chest and followed his madman into the room, bypassing Lestrade and Donovan. “Of course, love.”

 

Sherlock, with Rosie along for the ride, began to pace around the room spouting off his theories. John leaned against the metal table in the middle of the room and looked at the pictures Molly had sent them. Eventually, the even, if quick, pacing of Sherlock’s feet soon had Rosie snoring in his arms. At a particularly loud snuffle, Sherlock stopped mid sentence. He glanced down at the girl tucked into his body and curled his other arm around her to hug her closer. He smiled down at her and kissed her forehead before making eye contact with John.

 

Sherlock whispered, “naptime a lost cause at daycare, then?”

 

John nodded. “She probably won’t sleep long. But if we’re lucky she’ll make it home and be ready to eat something when we get back.”

 

“The thing with the peas,” Sherlock asked hopefully.

 

John smiled fondly and nodded. “Yeah, I can do that.” 

 

Sherlock nodded slowly, smoothing Rosie’s curls with his palm. John couldn’t help himself, he straightened and closed the small distance between them to kiss his daughter and then Sherlock’s lips. The kiss was chaste and sweet and when it ended they pressed their foreheads together, eyes closed. 

 

John whispered, “you know Donovan and Lestrade are watching.”

 

Sherlock huffed. “Let them look.” Sherlock extricated his arm from between John and Rosie and wrapped it around John’s waist to pull him close. “You were angry when you came in. It made Rosie more irritable. What happened?”

 

John chuckled lightly. “What? You can’t deduce it?”

 

“Of course I can. You just want to talk. So talk.”

 

“Git,” John whispered under his breath. “They still think you’re a machine, that you don’t care about us.”

 

“They’re idiots,” Sherlock said simply. As if there was no need for further explanation.

 

“I’m an idiot,” John pointed out. “Said so yourself.”

 

“Yes, well,” Sherlock said, amusement in his voice. He pulled back slightly and they opened their eyes to look at each other. “You’ve always been quicker on the uptake than the rest.”

 

“Took me long enough,” John mumbled. 

 

“But you got there. That’s all that counts. Now,” Sherlock said, leaning in to kiss him softly once before straightening himself up and holding Rosie more securely. “I think it’s time we get our little bee home. We’re all hungry and I need my violin. Don’t bother putting anything away, Lestrade can do that.”

 

Lestrade’s voice over the intercom came through, “oi! I am not your nursemaid!”

 

“That’s what you get for A. spying, and B. not letting me take things home with me.”

 

“It’s evidence you berk,” Lestrade complained.

 

“Tsk, tsk, detective,” Sherlock chided, walking towards the door. “Such language. And around little innocent ears.”

 

“Bite me,” Lestrade barked back before silencing the intercom.

 

John chuckled and shook his head. He quickly scooped the papers on the table into a stack and stuck them in an empty folder. Lestrade met him in the doorway, looking somewhat sheepish. He had never seen Sherlock so demonstrative before and John supposed it could be considered a shock. 

 

John just gave him a knowing smile. “We’ll let you know what he comes up with. Night, Greg.” Without another word, he followed in his partner’s footsteps to find him waiting at the lift doors. John placed a hand on the small of Sherlock’s back and pressed the call button. “Ready for home?”

  
“God yes,” Sherlock replied. 


End file.
